


Fantastic witchers and where to find them

by paintingraves (kallistob)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Gen, Monsters, Multiverse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Portals, Time and Space Travel, Timey-Wimey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:35:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24681640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistob/pseuds/paintingraves
Summary: "Master Jaskier the Bard, also known as Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove," Jaskier says with a flourish and a graceful bow. "And this is my friend, the witcher Geralt of Rivia." Geralt doesn't lower his sword.Newt has no idea what a witcher is. He's quite confused."Is this a Hollywood movie set?" He ventures.--Or: To prevent a repeat of New York, 1926, Grindelwald gets rid of Newt Scamander by yeeting him through a portal. Newt lands in a world that is... quite different from his own.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 29
Kudos: 297
Collections: A Gallery of Little Fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yep. i went and did that. XD

“You know, once again,” Newt said, voice muffled because of the hood over his head. “This whole thing is _extremely_ rude. I demand to see my lawyer. For your information, you can’t just go around abducting people - that's illegal.” 

His interlocutor said nothing, just kept circling him. Newt could hear their footsteps. 

Ever since he’d woken up here, dazed and tied to a chair and blinded, they’d done nothing but simply exist while he rambled on. Perhaps they were just an underling, tasked with guarding Newt silently until the real villain made his grand entrance? But the magizoologist failed to see who he could have _possibly_ angered this much in recent months. He reviewed all his significant and recent encounters but there wasn’t anything notable: he hadn’t rescued a creature from poachers in quite a while, and the person he talked to the most was his editor, via letters or floo when he had the chance. And Mrs. Miller seemed very pleased with his progress on the second volume of _Fantastic Beasts_ so far, so really he failed to see what this was about, although he assumed he was going to find out soon enough. 

Indeed, a few minutes later, a door behind him creaked open and someone strode into the room. From the smell of cologne that wafted over to Newt when the newcomer passed by to the heaviness of his footsteps, it was a man. 

“Is he awake?” He said said in a terribly, terribly familiar voice. Newt’s blood ran cold. 

“Yes sir,” the underling replied. 

“Good. Leave us alone, Cedrik.” Hurried footsteps again and the sound of a door closing. 

Grindelwald stayed silent for a long moment, making the hair on the back of Newt’s neck stand on hand. Fuck. He wasn’t here for a good time. 

There was another sound like the slide of cloth over skin, as if Grindelwald took off a glove, and then the hood was abruptly removed from Newt’s head, allowing him to see his surroundings. He blinked, disoriented, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. The moon shone through a small, round and barred window. This room was four brick walls and a parquet floor, completely void of any furniture or decoration. There was only him, Grindelwald, and the uncomfortable chair Newt was tied to. 

Mercifully, his suitcase was at his feet. Newt gazed up at Grindelwald in incomprehension. His mug was still as ugly as the last time he’d seen it, skin chalk white and blond hair slicked back on top of his head, deep set eyes of a different color staring back at him. His wand was tucked into an holster at his belt, and Newt paled as he realized he could no longer feel the weight of his own weapon around his forearm.

“Newt Scamander,” Grindelwald sighed at last. “You are a menace.” 

“Why thank you,” Newt snarked back, his heart racing inside his chest. “But I really doubt you’ve brought me here to compliment me. Also you ought to hire better underlings, the man who was here - Cedrik, was it? - is unbelievably _boring.”_

“I’ll think about it,” Grindelwald replied dryly without missing a beat. “I won’t beat around the bush, Mr. Scamander - you’re here because the last time we met, you intervened and completely spoiled my carefully constructed plans by minding business that wasn’t _yours_ and ruining my cover. Now of course I escaped - they are a bunch of morons thinking their little parlour tricks can hold me - and my plans are again in motion, but you remain a stain on the otherwise immaculate snow… I’m afraid something has to be done about you.” 

“Are you going to kill me?” Newt said, curling his hands into fists. “How very original.” 

“I won’t kill you,” Grindelwald said idly, checking his manicured nails as though he was bored. 

“You won’t?” repeated Newt, disbelief lacing his tone. “What the fuck do you intend to do to me then? Enslave me? Brainwash me? Torture me? I’m afraid that last one wouldn’t be very productive but well it’s what villains _do.”_

Grindelwald looked affronted. “Do you take me for a barbarian?! No, what I have in mind is much more subtle and powerful work, Newton… But allow me to demonstrate.” 

He held out his right hand and started reciting an incantation in a language Newt didn’t know. It sounded vaguely like Polish, but Newt spoke Polish (as well as six other languages) and he couldn’t understand this; what he could understand, however, as beads of sweat started forming on Grindelwald’s brow, was that whatever this spell was it demanded a great amount of energy. That a wizard of Grindelwald’s level struggled with it was a bit terrifying to contemplate. 

An eerie blue light formed around Grindelwald’s hands, his voice getting louder as he poured his magic into the spell until it came to an end. The blue light coalesced into a spiral and thickened into an oval, thin shape. There was a flash of bright light and Newt squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, he was staring at a sort of black hole hovering in the air in front of them. It looked very, very uninviting and very, very forbidding, and Newt swallowed around the lump in his throat. He glanced at Grindelwald, whose chest was heaving and hands trembling, but there was a glint of triumph in his eyes. 

“... What _is_ that?” Newt whispered. 

“That, my friend,” said Grindelwald, “is a portal. And you are going right through it.” Without further ado he grabbed Newt’s case on the floor and threw it in the black hole, ignoring Newt’s cries of protest. “Don’t worry, you’re next!" And in a blink he'd untied Newt, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and pushed him straight into the portal. “Farewell, Mr. Scamander.” Grindelwald smirked at the panicked expression on the young man’s face, and watched as the black hole swallowed Newt whole, his distant screams fading out. 

He sighed again, pleased with himself, and sat in the chair Newt had just occupied, staring at the portal as it shrunk on itself and disappeared. 

Casting this curse always left him exhausted, but it was such a good way to get rid of problematic opponents… He was very happy to have found it and mastered it. 

He wondered where the hell he’d sent Newt, and then realized he didn’t care. He had more important things to do, like overthrow the current wizarding governments. 

Whistling, Grindelwald left the tiny holding room and went back to his office, where he intended to take a well-deserved nap before getting back to work. Being one of the most powerful wizards of his time sure had its perks. 

\---

Newt landed on all fours in the middle of a forest. “Ow!” He protested, and repeated louder when his suitcase suddenly landed on him. Newt glared at the treacherous object as he rubbed his head where he was sure that a bump would form. 

He needed to check on his animals and make sure they were alright, but he had to gather his bearings first. Whatever a portal was, travelling through it at least was less nauseating than a portkey, and soon Newt was standing upright, suitcase in hand, attempting to figure out where the hell he was. 

This place looked like your average European forest, similar to the Pyrenees of France. There were looming oak trees, a ground covered in a carpet of tree leaves and brambles. The air was chilly, the sky above his head cloudy and grey. The wind rustled the leaves and Newt could hear a crow in the distance. 

This was all familiar, but it also felt… wrong. Newt felt weirdly _off_ , like he should never have been there in the first place. The unsettling feeling made his skin crawl. He tried to ignore it and moved forward - hopefully he’d see a path or a road of some kind soon, and from there he could find civilization again. Even if Grindelwald had sent him to the most remote of places on Earth, Newt would eventually find his way home. He could be very patient. 

He doesn’t know how long he walks for. Perhaps an hour? The landscape around him doesn’t change but he keeps going with determination. 

After another fifteen minutes or so, he starts hearing voices. He smiles in relief and nearly trots up to where the sound is coming from. He isn’t being discreet - leaves crack and dry twigs snap under his shoes. He notices the voices have fallen silent at his approach, but he keeps going until he can see two human men. He waves at them from afar and gets closer to the clearing where they seem to have made camp, only to stop short when one of them suddenly draws a very scary, very real looking sword and steps protectively in front of the other one, glaring at Newt with startling eyes of a golden color. 

He doesn’t look that much older than Newt, and yet his hair is fully white, long and gathered in a ponytail at his nape. A scar marks the left side of his face, crossing over his eye, and he is wearing layers of clothing and… (Newt ogles him disbelievingly) armor? Black leather armor with shoulder and knee pads and a codpiece at his crotch. Two wide leather straps cross over his wide chest, supporting two scabbards, including the one the stranger just drew his long sword from; the metallic hilt of another sword glints above his shoulder when he moves. 

The other man is younger, and in contrast to Mr. Sword over here he is swearing much lighter, brightly colored clothing. His outfit seems to have come straight out of a movie set in the medieval age, looking like the cliché of the cheery troubadour, down to the purple and pink doublet and the feathered hat atop of his head. He waves at Newt with a smile, seemingly accustomed to the defensive posturing of his companion in the face of strangers. 

Newt hesitates, his instincts telling him to put down his case and hold up his hands to show he’s unharmed. He does just that, and Mr. Scary seems to relax just a little, while the minstrel claps him on the back and says something in a language Newt can’t understand. _Again_. This is terribly inconvenient. Newt murmurs a translation spell, discreetly pointing his thumb at his throat, and feels much better when the gibberish turns into actual words. 

“... Geralt, I need a coat like that! _Look_ at him! Such a weird fashion sense - I’ve not seen anything like it in the Four Kingdoms!” 

“Stay behind me,” Geralt grunts. “My medallion…” 

“Oooh, your witchery senses are tingling? I shall be but silent backup then! Who are you?” He asks Newt, his eyes twinkling with joy, obviously excited. 

"Newton Scamander. And you are?" 

"Master Jaskier the Bard, also known as Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove," Jaskier says with a flourish and a graceful bow. "And this is my friend, the witcher Geralt of Rivia." Geralt doesn't lower his sword. 

Newt has no idea what a witcher is. He's quite confused. 

"Is this a Hollywood movie set?" He ventures, and Jaskier tilts his head in confusion. 

"What's a holy wood? Something to do with Melitele?" 

_"_ What?" 

"What?" 

The witcher, Geralt, sighs deeply, exasperated. "Enough. What's your business in these woods, stranger?" 

"Ah well you see, I seem to have gotten a bit lost… What country is this?" 

"Why it's the Four Kingdoms of course!" Jaskier says, his expression puzzled. "Kaedwen, to be precise." 

"Ah," Newt says delicately. "Then we have a problem." 

"Where are you from, Newt - can I call you Newt? Yes? Where do you come from?" 

"My birth country is England. On - on... Earth..." Oh dear. What the hell had Grindelwald _done?_ "What… What year is it?" 

"1250 after the Conjunction of the Spheres," Jaskier says, looking more and more intrigued. 

The _what_ of _what_ now? "...Can I come closer?" 

"Do you carry weapons?" Geralt growls, immediately tensing, and Newt shakes his head. 

"No, I… I had one but it was stolen." 

"Oooooh, there's a story there!" Jaskier sing-songs. "Yes you can come closer, Geralt won't hurt you. Right Geralt?" 

Geralt smiles terrifyingly and says nothing. 

Newt squares his shoulders and walks into the clearing with his case. The witcher takes him in from head to toe, and seems to write down Newt as non-threatening in the end because he sheaths his sword again, much to Newt's relief. It looked very sharp and very… cutty. Had these people never heard of _guns?_

… Also was that a horse? 

"That's Roach," Geralt grumbled, following Newt's gaze. Roach was happily munching on some grass. "Don't touch her or I'll cut your hands off." He smiled again, exposing sharp teeth, and Newt was certain that this was not an empty threat. That man would give Grindelwald a run for his money in terms of dangerous auras. 

The bard, Jaskier, took Newt by the hand to make him sit down on a log forcefully. There was a dying fire in front of them and two bedrolls laid side by side on the ground with a large folded blanket on top. Newt also noticed two bags in addition to Roach's tack and gear. 

Jaskier rummaged in one of the bags and with a _ah-ah!_ of victory brandished a small, leather-bound notebook and a quill pen. "Now then Newt, tell me _everything_ \- who stole from you?" 

"Err," Newt said. "Well. His name is Grindelwald. He sent me here through a - a portal?" 

Geralt, who'd sat down on a fallen tree trunk opposite them, looked up and frowned. "A portal? You met a mage?" 

"A ma -- well I _suppose_ you could call him that. In my world we call him a wizard. He captured me because I annoyed him once, cast a spell and... next thing I know I... landed here?" 

Geralt furrowed his brows even more - that is, until Jaskier threw a tiny rock at him and said he'd get wrinkles before his time if he kept on making that sour face. Geralt growled at him in annoyance but there was a small smile on his lips. 

Newt cleared his throat. "What is a _witcher?"_ He asked. "I've never heard that word before. I think… it's becoming clear to me that Grindelwald apparently sent me to another… world?" The prospect was _terrifying_. How would he ever get home? 

"Have you ever heard anything like that Geralt?" 

Geralt shook his head, a strand of white hair falling onto his face. "I'll ask Yennefer." 

"You do that," Jaskier agreed. "Yennefer is a mage, a very powerful one. _Very_ sexy too, and a tiny weeny bit _insane_. She and Geralt have a thing." He winked at Newt, who couldn't help but blush for some reason. Geralt scowled. 

"Shut up Jaskier." 

Jaskier mock-gasped. "Oh right, I forgot! Witchers have no feelings! God forbid you love Yennefer - or consider me your best friend in the whole wide world!" 

_"Jaskier."_

"Anyway to answer your question, Newt, a _witcher_ is a monster hunter. Ever since the conjunction of the spheres we have terrible things plaguing the Continent and devouring innocent people - sirens and vampires and ghouls and other nightmarish monstrosities.” He shuddered. “Believe me, you don't want to see them. Geralt's job is to kill monsters in exchange for coin." 

Newt felt a tad nauseous, thinking about all the creatures in his case. 

He'd have to guard it very, very carefully. A _monster hunter._ It stood to reason that this world was different from his own, of course, but Newt had made it his life goal to travel, rescue and study creatures other people labeled as _monsters_. His esteem of Geralt had suddenly dropped to a very low point. 

"And that's why he looks like this," Jaskier kept going, utterly oblivious to Newt's internal turmoil. "Handsome and scary, white hair, yellow eyes, built like a stone house, etc. Terrifyingly good with a sword. I don't know if we can truly help you but I promise you that if you travel with us for a while, you shall at least be safe from monsters and bandits!" 

He beamed at Newt expectantly. Newt tried to smile back, but he felt quite uncomfortable. Suddenly all he wanted was to go down in his case and curl up in his own bed, safe amongst the smells and sounds of his animal friends. "And… what's your role in all this?" 

"Whenever our paths meet I travel with Geralt for a bit and take inspiration from his battles to compose new successful ballads. It's a whole process." He grinned, and pointed at his notebook again. "Hence this. Geralt's contracts have been terribly dull lately, but now a man coming from another world…! I _must_ hear all about you. I can already see it - _From the depths of the unknown/portails a man in a blue coat/ crying out loud where therefore am I? and wheeeeen the witcher approaches… o- ooh hmm…_ " He sang. 

Newt met Geralt's eyes. "Is he always like that?" 

"Yes," Geralt said, amused. "You'll get used to it, don't worry." 

Newt sighed, already mourning the peace and quiet he was used to. 

"I can hear you both, you know!" Jaskier exclaimed and, despite it all, Newt laughed.

\----

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Let me tell you something, Newt. I don’t know how things work where you come from, and I don't care to know. The only thing I know is this: in this world, monsters kill people."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aye lads here we gooo

It turned out that he had interrupted Geralt and Jaskier during breakfast. It was still early, and the sky was grey and cloudy. Geralt revived the fire while Jaskier rummaged in one of their bags, taking out a metallic pot, two cups and a sort of basket containing bread, dried apricots and figs, and a bag of tea leaves. 

He emptied a waterskin in the pot and threw the leaves in the water, telling Newt they’d wait a bit for the fire to go down before heating it, and in the meantime he offered Newt and Geralt some bread. Geralt accepted the food with a smile, but Newt shook his head. He still felt rattled by the whole experience, and he was afraid that any food he swallowed would just come back up. His mind spun in circles that gave him no answer. He drowned out the sound of his new companions discussing their plans for the day, Jaskier’s melodious laughter mingling with Geralt’s deep, growling voice. 

What had Grindelwald done? 

How was it even possible for Newt to land in a completely _different_ world? He’d never heard of such a thing. Or was he simply dreaming? Was this all the product of a very elaborate curse? Did he even left that room Grindelwald kept him trapped in? Could he be lying somewhere unconscious, his mind trapped in this intricate, realistic looking daydream? It _felt_ real -- but was it? Was it real ? 

Whatever this trick was, it reeked of dark, forbidden magic of the most powerful kind. It spoke of how far Grindelwald had gone. Newt truly feared for the fate of the wizarding world, but as it was he was helpless. He had to find a solution to go back where he belonged, but in the meantime… He would need to adapt. Jaskier seemed like a chatterbox and would no doubt be only too happy to tell him everything there was to know about this world... As for Geralt, he would be keeping an eye on Newt. The witcher didn’t trust him, not yet, and Newt could sense it - could feel the weight of Geralt’s stare often drifting back to him even as he talked animatedly to Jaskier. 

After breakfast, the two men packed their things. Geralt brushed and saddled Roach while Jaskier announced he’d go to the river to fill their waterskins and wash the dishes. It left Geralt and Newt alone, in an awkward silence. Newt cleared his throat and, wanting to be helpful, proceeded to shake the men’s bedrolls free of dirt and roll them up tightly. He brought them to Geralt, who grunted out a ‘thanks’ and tied them to Roach’s saddle. Newt smiled as the horse whinnied, and he lifted a hand up to pet the mare’s neck. Roach’s ears flattened immediately and she showed her teeth. Newt retreated. 

“She’s, err, beautiful,” he said from a safe distance away, his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Hmm.” Geralt held her by the reins, and gave her a little proud smile. “She doesn’t like strangers. Jaskier had to bribe her with apples, carrots and sugar cubes for six months before she let him close.” 

“How long have you had her?” 

“Bought her in a village near Cintra. It’s been five years now. She was a feisty one, the farmer just wanted to get rid of her.” 

“I see.” 

Jaskier announced his return with a bawdy song, and Geralt sighed. 

“Everything ready?” The bard asked, his eyes twinkling. He was in a particularly good mood. 

“Yes. Grab your lute, we’re leaving.” Geralt glanced at Newt. “Will you be alright walking?” 

“Err - yes,” Newt said. “But where are we going exactly?” 

“The next village on the Path,” Geralt grunted as he mounted Roach. “See if they have another contract for me. Jaskier performs in inns. That’s how we make our living.”

“Well. I don’t see what else I can do for now,” Newt replied dejectedly. Geralt hummed again and set off at a walking pace, guiding them out of the woods. Newt swallowed, held onto the handle of his suitcase tighter, and followed him. 

“We’ll have to get you new clothes.” Jaskier eyed him critically. “A cloak, _something_. You stand out like a sore thumb, and people don’t much like those who are different here.” 

“Not that different from my world, then,” Newt muttered. “But there’s no need to waste your money - if you tell me what to do I could charm them.” 

“What’s that?” 

“I can, err, change the way my clothes look. Using magic.” 

“Can you?” Jaskier said, his face lighting up. “Oh, you simply _have_ to show me! That sounds amazing!” 

“If you want, sure.” 

After an hour or so, Jaskier loudly announced he needed to obey the call of nature and strayed off the path to find a tree. Newt imitated him; he also needed to pee, but it was mostly an excuse to have a moment alone. Hidden from their sight, he started frantically searching every inch of his person for his wand, hoping against hope that he somehow still had it with him. He knew it was pointless, could feel it even as he was doing it. Grindelwald had stolen his wand, but his brain kept screaming at him that he was missing something important. As expected, he came up empty handed, which was hard to accept. Newt cursed appropriately.

He did keep a spare wand in his suitcase, but it was just the old one from his school days. He'd used it in Hogwarts and as a young adult, before buying a new one at age twenty-five that suited him more. He still had it because of sentimental value, and knew it sat in a box somewhere in his suitcase accumulating dust. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than being completely defenceless. 

He hadn’t dared yet go down inside his suitcase, though. He knew he needed to soon, to check on his animals, but he apprehended the reaction of Jaskier and Geralt. Jaskier would probably be amazed, just like Jacob had been, but Geralt… Well. Newt was a bit more wary about revealing the secrets of his suitcase to Geralt. 

His heart squeezed painfully inside his chest. God, he missed his friends -- Jacob and Tina and Queenie… Would he ever see them again, or was he trapped here until the end? 

And Theseus… Christ, his brother would be sick with worry if he found out Newt was missing. 

He shouldn’t think about that. _Worrying means you suffer twice._

Jaskier proved himself to be a good distraction. The bard kept up a steady stream of chatter as they ambled along the dusty road. He was full of energy; he practically bounced on his feet like an hyperactive child, and Newt was equally tired and amused by his antics. When Jaskier wasn’t talking, he was humming or composing, or outright singing, strumming his lute even as they walked. He flitted from Geralt to Newt, asking questions or just monologuing, seeming to like the sound of his own voice. Geralt was, apparently, used to it. Newt had tried at first to keep up with the man, and quickly realized that wasn’t possible. 

Listening to Jaskier made him learn quite a few things about this world he’d landed in. The bard kept making all sorts of references to things or people Newt had never heard of, and he each time had to ask Jaskier to explain, which is how he learned the following important information: 

First, the lands were ruled by Kings and Queens, like in the Middle Ages. The most important cities of Kaedwen were Ard Carraigh - where they came from - Gelibol - where they were headed - and Ban Glean. From Kaedwen they could cross into Redania, and perhaps make their way to Novigrad and Oxenfurt, which Jaskier seemed particularly excited about. Along the way there would be small settlements, and villages, and bigger cities. If they were lucky enough, they wouldn’t meet bandits or monsters and wouldn’t die prematurely - although with the _White Wolf_ at their side, Jaskier emphasized while pointing at Geralt, they were very _very_ safe. Why, Geralt could kill a monster in his sleep with both hands tied behind his back!

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jaskier,” Geralt scoffed at that last statement. “If I were tied up and a group of barghests happened upon us I’d be dead, same as you. I’m not invulnerable.” 

“What’s a barghest?” Newt asked. 

“Big glowy dog,” Jaskier replied cheekily. 

“Big glowy - Melitele’s tits. They’re specters. Hunt in packs. They’re a pain in the ass. I fucking hate contracts for the undead," Geralt muttered to himself. 

“Ah, what’s your - err, favorite contract then?” Newt said, trying his best to keep up with the conversation.

“I don’t know - a contract where I don’t get killed.” 

“...What’s one you hate?” 

“Nightwraights,” Geralt listed. “Anything involving swamps. Higher vampires, they're fucking impossible to kill. Vesemir used to tell us this story about vampires who attacked a single village on Saovine night. They managed to kill their leader, a higher vampire, only because he was so blood drunk he couldn’t even walk straight…and even then Vesemir wasn't sure they'd actually killed him.” 

\----

“This is so odd,” Newt said after a while, when they were taking a short break to munch on some nuts and sunflower seeds. 

“What is?” Enquired Jaskier, his mouth full of food, his cheeks puffed like a hamster’s. 

“What Geralt said earlier. About vampires, for example - in my world, they are nothing like what you described," Newt lectured. "They are quite rare, and not very dangerous. The majority of them, at least in Western Europe, are bonded to another wizard or witch who keeps them in check, and offers them blood when they need it. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. It’s extremely rare for a vampire to become feral and go on a killing rampage, and when they do, they are put down almost immediately by the Auror force.” Jaskier and Geralt exchanged an odd look. “Silver bullets do the job just fine. The rest of the time, they live a normal life. Werewolves are the same: people fear them, but most of them manage to live among humans normally if they hide their true nature. If they take all the necessary precautions to keep themselves and others safe on the night of the full moon, their condition _can_ be controlled. A few radical packs reject humanity entirely, but they prefer not to hunt down people if they can help it. They just live in the middle of nowhere and hunt big game, just like regular wolves.” 

Geralt recorked his waterskin and frowned. “Do you not have monster hunters in your world?” 

“No, we don’t - well, not like you. It’s not a specific profession per se. People do fear monsters, and hunted them down for centuries, but… I’ve found that for the most part magical creatures are completely innocent and _harmless_. They’re just trying to survive. They wouldn’t attack humans unprovoked. Some are perfectly peaceful herbivores, but people take one look at a huge beast and think it needs to be killed, regardless of the repercussions on the environment and the food chain! Which is not even to mention the fur trade, illegal exotic pet trafficking, and so on and so forth." Newt took a deep breath. "I believe magical creatures deserve to be studied, understood, and protected by the law, not mindlessly _killed_. Perhaps even here, in your world! I’ve made it my life goal to change the opinion of the wizarding world about magical creatures, which is why…” He met Geralt’s gaze. “Which is why it is upsetting for me to know your job is to hunt down monsters and kill them. Maybe it isn't necessary - maybe there's another way...” 

Jaskier’s gaze jumped from Newt to Geralt, and he swallowed. "Erm, Newt, I don't think…"

“Jaskier, hush." Geralt pondered that speech, and then smiled with all his teeth. It was an ugly, dangerous, _twisted_ smile. Newt couldn't help but recoil. "Let me tell you something. I don’t know how things work where you come from, and I don't _care_ to know. The only thing I know is this: in this world, monsters kill people. They slaughter. We're nothing but food. Easy to hunt, easy to kill, easy to eat. Everyday there's a dozen new victims. They kill innocent people, they kill women, they kill children, they kill the elderly, they kill men with families, they kill kings and peasants alike, hundreds of thousands of people who never should have died. Monsters are a bloodthirsty plague. And me and my kind - _witchers, mutants_ \- were created to protect mankind. It is our sole purpose. If we didn’t exist, if no one had taken steps to ensure there was a way humans could one day fight monsters on an equal footing, then humanity as we know it would have long since disappeared.” He threw his waterskin back in one of the saddlebags, his expression thunderous. “Do I make myself clear? The monsters I know are not from this world. There’s no balance. It’s kill or be killed and the game is rigged. The Conjunction of the Spheres brought horrors into this world, horrors humans are helpless to face. Witchers are a necessary evil. As for me, you haven’t seen me work. You don't know shit.” He mounted Roach again, and glared at Newt from up high. “I don’t always kill, not if I can help it. Sometimes curses can be lifted and people deserve to be saved. Sometimes _humans_ are the real monsters. You don’t know anything about me or this world, so keep your heroics and naive speeches to yourself. I have no qualms about leaving you on the side of the road if you think you can sweet talk a monster to escape death. Jaskier! We’re leaving." 

Jaskier scrambled to follow, shooting Newt a sympathetic look. 

And Newt remained completely dumbstruck, his ears ringing. Being the object of Geralt’s ire was a disturbing experience. Belatedly, he became aware that he was trembling, and that his breathing was shallow. 

Geralt had _scared_ him. 

It took a few minutes to calm down, and when he did, Newt felt both embarrassed and angry. He grit his teeth and balled his hands into fists, and started running behind the witcher to catch up. “Wait - _wait!”_

Geralt sat ramrod straight on the back of Roach, and Jaskier was kicking pebbles and not talking for once. Newt came up to their level, breathless. “Wait, both of you!” he panted. “I didn't mean to insult you, Geralt, bollocks! I just…I feel… lost. I suppose I'm just trying to find a common ground. I didn’t mean to undermine the importance of your profession - because you’re right, I know _nothing_ of this world yet, and I’m really thankful that you both chose to help me. I’m sorry.” 

Geralt deflated, sighed and passed his hand over his face. “Fuck. I… apologize too. My last contract was a bloody shitshow. I’ve been on edge the last couple of days, and you also unknowingly struck a raw nerve," he added bitterly, but didn't elaborate. "Sorry for scaring you." 

"I've seen worse." 

Geralt snorted.

“RIGHT!” Jaskier said loudly, clapping his hands. “That was fun! Shall we talk about something else? Newt, _wherever_ did you find this coat? The blue color is to die for!” 

Newt gladly took the diversion. 

\-----

They walked for the whole day and stopped just as night began to fall. Setting up camp with the tasks divided between the three of them was a quick affair, and soon enough Jaskier and Newt were sitting near the fire, warming their hands, while Geralt gutted and skinned a couple of rabbits. He set them on a spit to roast. 

But Newt could not ignore the matter of his suitcase any longer. 

“This… will be very odd,” he began. Jaskier looked up from his notebook curiously, regarding him with interest, and Geralt locked his jaw, watching Newt with hawk eyes as the wizard set his suitcase on the ground and opened it. “This is basically my home.” He gestured awkwardly at the open suitcase. Jaskier tried to peer inside from afar. “It’s much bigger on the inside. I have clothes, and food, and… other things. Even a bed, should it start to rain one day and you two would rather not be wet.” He cleared his throat again. “It’s magic. I’m going to go inside and grab a few things. Don’t lock the suitcase or move it. I don’t… I really don’t know how to explain this better. See for yourself.” 

And Newt went down the ladder. Geralt startled and Jaskier watched him descend with wide eyes and an open mouth, his new ballad utterly forgotten. 

“You can… come closer, if you like,” Newt offered, his voice echoing. “Just to take a look at the shed.” 

“The shed?” Geralt repeated incredulously. 

Newt smirked. “Yes, the shed. Come on.” Jaskier obeyed, and carefully crouched in front of the suitcase. He stuck his head inside and gasped loudly. Newt stood in the middle of an actual wooden shed, complete with a door and a long dirty window on the left side. There were two tables buried under the weight of a chaotic amount of books, notes, scribbles, as well as a few cups of tea and some glass vials. Herbs hung from the ceiling and the room smelled slightly burnt. Jaskier wondered what could possibly be behind the door, but this was… 

"Amazing - amazing ! Geralt, come ! Have a look!" 

Newt took off his coat as Jaskier _ooohed_ and _aaaahed_. He rolled up his sleeves, feeling like he could finally breathe properly after a long day underwater. This was his _home_. He was in his element, he had control, and there was nothing to fear. 

“Jaskier, do you want to come down?” He offered. 

Jaskier startled. “What?” 

“Do you want to visit the case?” 

“Are you kidding me? This is amazing! Fuck yes!” Jaskier enthusiastically swung his legs down the ladder, but Geralt grabbed him by the wrist tightly. 

“Don’t,” the witcher warned him. His medallion was buzzing like crazy against his chest, drawing Jaskier’s eyes. “I don’t like this.” 

“But, Geralt…” 

“No, Jaskier." 

Newt shrugged and ignored the following argument. First things first - his wand. He knelt in front of one of the tables overloaded with science experiments and rummaged in one cardboard box until he found what he was looking for. His old wand sat in a velvety case, polished and shiny and as good as new. Newt took it and felt warmth travel down his arm to his fingertips, a few golden sparks erupting from the tip of the wand. He grimaced. The feeling was not quite right, but it was all he had, and he already felt more reassured with the weight of the weapon in his hand. 

Newt tucked it in his belt. Jaskier and Geralt had disappeared from the opening of the suitcase, and Newt shrugged again. Their loss. He had work to do. 

He did his rounds for more than three hours. All his creatures were hungry, thirsty, and moody at having been left alone for so long. Newt apologized and took extra time to give them all the belly rubs and all the pets until they were less mad at him. Kyle, the direwolf pup, clumsily followed in Newt’s footsteps as he went to each animal, yapping excitedly. The bowtruckles and giant beetles mostly ignored him, the mooncalves purred with happiness at his return, and the Graphorns hugged him too tightly with their slimy tentacles. Newt felt more relaxed than he had in a long time. 

When he emerged from the suitcase, night had long since fallen. Jaskier was snoring, cocooned in a blanket on top of one bedroll, hugging his lute close to his chest. Newt dusted himself off and put on a large, warm sweater. Geralt was standing guard, sitting cross-legged on top of a tree stump. His eyes were glowing eerily, and his hair shone silver in the moonlight. 

“I want to introduce you to someone,” Newt announced softly, refusing to be intimidated. He stepped closer to Geralt, who looked up at him, his mouth pressed in a thin line. Newt held out one arm, and the Ocamy wrapped around his neck like a scarf suddenly slithered down. It raised its chest and trilled softly at Geralt, batting its tiny wings. “This is Ophelia. Ophelia, this is Geralt, a witcher.” 

Geralt gaped at the animal, frozen in place. 

Ophelia trilled again and preened at the attention, showing off her iridescent colors. 

“Would you like to hold her?” Newt asked when Geralt didn't move or say anything. He kept _staring_ at the tiny creature, looking completely wrong-footed. He lifted a hand then stopped himself, as if afraid his big burly self would hurt the Occamy. There was something like childlike wonder in his eyes, an emotion he was obviously struggling to suppress. 

“I… What - what is it? I’ve never seen anything like it before.” 

“It’s an Occamy,” Newt murmured. “Perfectly harmless creatures. People hunt them down for their silver shells and the color of their scales.” Ophelia wiggled on his arm. “Come on, hold out your hands.” 

Geralt hesitantly did as he was told. He seemed almost frightened. Happy to make a new friend, Ophelia slithered from Newt’s hands to curl her tail around Geralt’s wrist, and chirped at him. Geralt opened his mouth and closed it again. 

“Hello?” he murmured uncertainly. Ophelia cried and curled up in the safety of his palms, content. Newt smiled and gently stroked the scales of her back. “...She’s gorgeous. I've never - I've never seen or heard of such a creature."

“Well. Now you have.” 

"Hmm." Geralt gave a tiny smile of agreement.

After another minute or two, Newt took back the baby Occamy. Geralt looked like he had no idea what to do with himself now. “I’m going to put her to bed with her siblings,” he murmured. “I'll be right back.” 

Newt did just that. When he finally closed the suitcase for the night Geralt had resumed his watch, all senses on alert. He was sharpening a blade against a whetstone. He didn’t pay any attention to Newt as he settled down in a warm sleeping bag next to Jaskier. Newt closed his eyes, put his hands on his belly and breathed deeply. The sky had cleared during the day and he could see thousands of stars shining above him, although he couldn't recognize any familiar constellations. He rolled onto his side. Behind him, the sound of whetstone grinding stopped. 

“... I think I can understand why you do what you do,” Geralt said. “Know that it would never be possible here. But I can understand.” 

“...Thanks," Newt murmured. "Good night, Geralt.” 

“Good night, stranger.” 

Newt smiled softly and let slumber overtake him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier in this story are like a mix between Netflix Witcher, book Witcher and the Witcher 3, by which I mean that I want Geralt to both talk in lengthy speeches and in hums and grunts. Jaskier is... Jaskier. Newt is a bit lost but very adaptable. Geralt and Jaskier are best bros. Roach is best horse. I've got a few ideas for this story, we'll see how it goes! 😌  
> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, see you next time !


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